


What the Water Gave Us

by Dee_Moyza



Category: The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Character Death, Child in Peril, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-canon to canon-adjacent, attempted infanticide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27458251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Moyza/pseuds/Dee_Moyza
Summary: Rejected by her parents as an infant, Thipa is taken in by the blacksmith of Kakariko Village and raised as his own, on the condition that she never drink from the village's well.  Though curious about it, Thipa initially obeys this condition; as she grows older, however, and life's challenges begin to mount, Thipa finds herself drawn ever closer to the well, and whatever dwells within it.
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Had old Norak not dropped his Rupee wallet and gone back to retrieve it, he would not have seen the hooded figures peering out from the castle town gate, nor would he have seen them fling a tiny bundle into the river below. Norak watched the bundle thrash and bob and begin to sink, and something about its movements, and the secrecy with which it was discarded, prompted him to abandon the rest of his belongings and dive in after it.

The current was strong, but Norak was stronger; a lifetime of smithing had left him with muscles as hard as the iron he worked, and with little fear of injury. With a few swift strokes, he intercepted the bundle, and held it over his head as he drifted toward the bridge. Bracing himself along the side of the bridge, he clambered up the bank, and sat down in the grass there to catch his breath. He regarded the bundle from different angles, cautiously jabbing his finger at it, and was startled to hear a muffled sound from within. Leaning closer, he realized the bundle—or rather, whatever was inside it—was coughing.

The ropes binding the bundle were wet and the knots too tight to pick apart, so Norak retrieved his pocketknife and carefully cut the ropes away. The rough fabric fell aside to reveal a baby, only days old, by Norak's estimation, clad in a thin, frilled gown, the little pockets of which had been stuffed with stones and sewn shut. 

The memory of the hooded figures flashed through Norak's mind, and his vision darkened with rage, but another feeble cough from the baby reminded him that there were more immediate concerns than seeking vengeance on its behalf. As gently as his work-hardened hands let him, he turned the infant on its side and rubbed its back, muttering pleas to whatever beneficent forces could hear him that the baby hadn't taken in too much water.

The baby coughed again, spitting up water, and soon began to cry. A frail sound, but the sign of life Norak had hoped for. He relaxed and let out a relieved chuckle, then laid the baby onto the grass while he searched his belongings for something dry to wrap it in.

"That's it, little one," he murmured, clumsily swaddling the baby in a length of hide, "you're going to be all right." Balancing the baby in the crook of his arm, he gathered the rest of his things and began trudging toward the village, the squelching in his shoes and the crunching of gravel beneath his feet joining the baby's sobs and hiccups in the strangest melody Norak had ever heard, but one that shifted something inside of him and moved his heart first to pity, then to affection.

"Don't worry," he said, "the worst is over. I will take care of you, you'll see. From now on, you will know nothing but love."  
  


* * *

  
The baby caused a stir among the residents of Kakariko Village, not least of which because of Norak himself. The house of an old widower with eyes for nothing but his work was the last place from which anyone would expect to hear the cries of a baby. A small crowd gathered outside of his house that night, puzzling amongst themselves until one of the townswomen tried the door, found it unlocked, and let herself in. She'd only taken a few steps inside when she cried out in horror and rushed across the room to snatch the spoon from Norak's hand, with which he was trying to give milk to the baby. 

"Good gracious, Norak, you'll drown the poor child!" She frowned at Norak's wet boots beside the stove, and his wet clothes draped over a chair. "And it looks to me like you've already tried to."

"No, not at all!" Norak's eyes widened, and he looked from the woman to the villagers that had followed her and back again. "Nefia, I saved this child. She was thrown into the river at the gate to the castle town. I saved her!"

Nefia's features softened. "Thrown in? But why? Who would do such a thing?" She scooped the baby out of Norak's arms, smiling and cooing at it, but her frown abruptly returned when she moved aside the swaddling. As much as she tried to hide it, Norak could see the revulsion in her eyes, and he noticed how she leaned away from the baby, eventually holding it at arms' length. 

"Well," she said at last, handing the baby back to him, "I suppose that's reason enough in some people's eyes."

"Nothing could be," Norak said, looking down at the baby. She was not the prettiest child he'd seen; in fact, she looked nothing of the sort. Her tiny features were severely asymmetrical, the right half of her face pulled down, as if it was made of softened wax. Still, a heart beat inside her little body, the same as in his own and in any of the townsfolks'. "Nothing should be reason enough to kill a child."

"She's disfigured, and that may not be the half of it. We don't know if she will be able to walk, or to talk, or to learn. She will have a hard life, and her parents probably understood that. They might have even thought they were being merciful."

The murmur of agreement that went up among the townsfolk chilled Norak's blood. He felt the bile creep into his throat, and the anger he'd set aside earlier in the evening came rushing back. "That is no mercy, only cowardice! If her parents did not think they could raise her, surely they could have found someone else—"

"No one wants a baby like that," Nefia snapped back. "Just to look at it feels like courting misfortune."

"I do! I want to keep her. I want… I want to give her a _chance._ " His anger ebbing, Norak felt tears of desperation welling in his eyes. He bit his lip and rocked the baby, trying to quiet her. "Please, Nefia. Just a chance. It's the least she deserves."

The villagers were silent, watching Nefia for a cue on how to react. Nefia glared at Norak, but when the baby's cries grew louder, she sighed and took it into her arms again. 

"I believe the carpenter's wife is still suckling her son," she said, then turned toward the others. "Someone fetch her for me. We will send for Impa in the morning. She will tell us how to proceed." She ushered the crowd out of Norak's house, then shut the door behind them and turned to him.

"Do you really think you can give this child a chance at a normal life?" she asked.

"I will try. I will raise her as my own, as the daughter I never had. I will teach her, and she will be strong."

"That is all merely conjecture, at the moment." Nefia adjusted the swaddling. "I still think this is a mistake, Norak. The invitation of someone else's ill fortune. However, should Impa decide to let her stay, I cannot speak against her. In that case, I would have but one condition."

"And that is?"

"Do not let this child drink the water from the well. It is bad enough that she will be suckling from one of our own women; I'd rather not risk the effects the water might have on an outsider like her. River water only, Norak. Promise me."

"I promise."

"Thank you." A weary grin played across Nefia's face. "You've become quite sentimental in your old age. I'd never have figured you for it." A knock on the door jolted her back into a severe expression. "That will be Topi. Make yourself scarce, Norak, and let us women tend to the childrearing for the night."  
  


* * *

  
Impa peered at the baby, lifting her arms and legs and massaging the soles of her feet. She picked the baby up and turned her over, inspecting her like a piece of produce, then laid her back onto the blanket and nodded.

"Despite the disfigurement to her face, and her ordeal last night, she appears as healthy as any other infant I've seen," Impa said, "though that number is admittedly small."

Norak heaved a sigh of relief. "So, she'll survive?"

"I cannot speak for her chances in the long term, but she doesn't appear to be in any immediate danger. She is being fed regularly?"

"Yes. Topi was kind enough to… provide for her." Norak nodded toward the corner where Topi sat beside Nefia, her lips pulled into a taut line, mirroring her brows.

"It was not kindness," she muttered. "I had little choice in the matter, dragged here by the townsfolk, like some sort of criminal on parade."

"Will you continue to feed the child?" Impa asked.

"I suppose I have just as little choice in my answer." She glared at Norak, then turned to Impa and flung up her arms. "It is not pleasant! I shudder every time I look down and see that twisted little face—attached to my body, no less! If she were one of us, it would be bad enough, but who knows where she comes from, what she might carry."

"You are the only one in the village who can feed her, at the moment."

"She is not my responsibility; I have a son of my own to feed. If Norak wished to play at being a father, he had all those years while Emea was still alive!"

"Enough," Norak shouted. "I am not 'playing' at anything! How can you be so cold-hearted, Topi? The child will starve."

"She is not _my_ child."

"Correct," Impa said. "She is not yours. She is the village's. As such, we all have a responsibility to her well-being. And right now, what she needs most, only you can provide."

"You cannot be serious. The child shouldn't even be here. If you worry about her well-being so much, take her back to the castle town. See if anyone cares for her there!"

"The child stays here. Kakariko Village is, above all, a refuge for the poor and the vulnerable, and who is more vulnerable than an infant?"

Topi bit back her response, but her eyes smoldered with anger and indignation.

"Besides," Nefia ventured, laying a hand on Topi's shoulder, "it will not be forever. Just for a little while, until the baby can get her nourishment in other ways. A few weeks, perhaps? A month or two?" She glanced at Impa for an answer.

"If not a bit longer," Impa replied, her tone softening. "But Nefia is right, it will not be forever. Once the baby is comfortable with a bottle and cow's milk, you will have done your part." Before either Nefia or Topi could say more, she turned to Norak and the baby. "So, that leaves one more issue for today. What do we call our newest villager?"

Norak stammered, opening and closing his mouth and looking helplessly at the baby, as if he expected her to tell Impa her name. "I-I haven't had time to think of a name," he admitted. "Everything happened so quickly, and it has been so hectic."

"Take your time. I can return tomorrow, and you can tell me then, if you wish."

"No, no. It will come to me. Emea had—she could have no children of her own, but she picked out several names, years ago, in some strange kind of hope… or defiance. If we had a son, he would be called… Enolph, I think? Or was it Erran…?" He trailed off, into a memory that both warmed and tormented him. Impa and the other women faded into the edges of his consciousness as he saw Emea, instead, standing at the hearth, stirring a pot of stew and turning to him with a smile. 

"What do you think of the name Enolph, dear?" she asked him. "If we ever had a son?"

"A solid name," he said, the cold dart of reality stinging his heart. "A strong name."

"I thought you'd like it." Emea ladled stew into two bowls and brought them to the table. "And, if it was a girl, I like the name Thipa. Short, pretty, but just as strong."

"Thipa. Indeed, just as strong." He repeated the name, slowly, carefully, as if it were a spell to ward off the truth that Emea refused to believe, the truth that could crush her spirit. "Thipa."

"Thipa, it is then," Impa said with a laugh, wrenching Norak back into the present. "A lovely name." She leaned down and grasped Thipa's tiny hand, welcoming her to Kakariko Village. 

"I will return as often as I can in the next several months," she said, walking to the door, "to check on Thipa's development. And, of course, if any issues arise, contact me at once. I must return to the castle now, but please, take care of one another, for the sake of the village, and the sake of this child."

"For the sake of the village," Topi spat after Impa had left. "If she really cared about the village, she would not ask me to nurse a child rejected by its own parents! What if my son doesn't receive the nourishment he needs?"

"Norak and I will help with everything else," Nefia offered, holding up her hand to still Norak's tongue. "And don't worry about your son. He is strong and healthy, and will grow up thus. Come, let us go tend to him now. Norak, if you'll excuse us."

Once Nefia and Topi left, Norak exhaled slowly, shaking his head and looking at Thipa. Momentarily sated, Thipa gurgled and cooed and screwed her eyes shut against the light coming in through the windows. Norak stroked the fine hair on her head and smiled sadly.

"If only my Emea were still here," he said, "you wouldn't have to put up with Topi at all. Emea knew what to do with children, though she never had a chance to show it. She would love you, I'm sure of it. She would love you, as much as I already do. Little Thipa, I will do my best to raise you, to help you become someone who would make Emea proud.

"Someone you will be proud to be."  


* * *

  
Of course, the arrangement with Topi did not last forever, though her constant complaining often made it feel like such to Norak. He weathered her tirades with a sense of detached calm, and dealt with his frustration through his work, often seeing Topi's indignant sneer in the metal he was striking. 

But even that was not enough to calm him, some days, and he would head to the well and sprinkle some Rupees into the water, in exchange for an extra dose of patience. One time, Nefia, with her hawk-keen eyes, spotted him filling his flask and, fearful that he was taking it home to give to Thipa, made him drink the entire thing on the spot, clicking her tongue as he coughed and gagged on the last few drops.

Still, it was a worthwhile ordeal if it meant more easily tolerating Topi for the next few days.

Even Topi's husband, come to the smithy for tools, had quite enough of her dour mood, and grumbled about her to Norak.

"It's gotten so I ask for payment in drink for some jobs," he said, placing his elbows on the counter and resting his head in his hands. "Both to dull her incessant moaning and to stay out of the house for a few blessed hours longer. Best hope that baby of yours takes to the bottle soon, Norak, or I shall take to the bottle, myself, for life!"

Topi's husband got his wish not long afterward, and, as soon as Norak could feed Thipa on his own, peace returned to the village. Already glad to be free of Topi's daily presence, Norak was happier still watching Thipa grow. She learned to walk not long after Topi's son did, and followed her curiosity wherever it led, often demonstrating remarkable stealth for such a small child when it came to finding dangerous objects and situations. Norak tried his best to reduce the possibility of these situations, but it seemed like she was always one move ahead of him, and he eventually resigned himself to building a waist-high fence around portions of his own home, just to keep her safe.

She was slow to speak, but once she began, she picked up language easily, though her facial structure did affect her enunciation some. Still, she knew what she wanted to say and was not afraid to say it, and remained undeterred by requests to repeat herself. In fact, she seemed to enjoy those requests, in particular. They gave her a chance to dramatically enact her words as well as speak them, and she soon developed a presence that belied her petite stature.

Thipa's mind was sharp and insatiable. By the time she was five, she would willingly clamber onto a chair on the opposite side of the shop from Norak and watch him work for hours. She learned to read by going through the register of Norak's orders, watched him sort and process his materials, and could tell him which type of metal he was working from its appearance alone.

Norak's heart swelled with love and pride. Thipa was enough of a gift to him as a healthy child; that she took an active interest in his work was a boon he would never have even dreamt of asking for. He looked over his shoulder as he worked and wiped the sweat from his brow, seeing her do the same from across the room, her little legs swinging from the chair to a rhythm in her head, and he smiled. 

_If only Emea could have met you,_ he thought, adjusting his grip on his hammer, _she'd love you just as much as I do._ He struck the metal on the anvil and blinked back a rush of tears. "But no matter," he said aloud. "I'll love you enough for both of us."

"What?" Thipa piped up.

"I said, I love you, Thipa. My sweet girl."

Thipa beamed. "Love you, too!"

She continued to be his joy and inspiration. For her seventh birthday, he made her a diminutive hammer, small and light enough for her hands, and taught her how to use it. She was so appreciative of the gift, and excited to finally mimic his work, that she threw her arms around him without first discarding the hammer, knocking the breath from him for a few moments. He didn't mind—though he did instruct her on proper tool usage later—and simply held her close until he could breathe again.

Yes, Thipa was a gift, given to him by the river.

The water, it seemed, knew best.

It always did.


	2. Chapter 2

"There it is! Quick, Thipa, catch it, catch it!" Anju jumped up and down, clapping, as Thipa crept up on the last escaped Cucco. Meanwhile, Anju's brother Rago ambled back toward the pen, a flapping Cucco beneath each arm, muttering under his breath about his sister's husbandry skills, or lack thereof.

Thipa crouched low in the grass and inched toward the Cucco, stopping every time it turned its head, advancing when it pecked at the ground. Finally, when she thought she was in range of the Cucco, she lunged. Her fingers brushed against feathers and slid down the side of the Cucco's round body, before she was able to close them around one spindly leg. The Cucco squawked and flapped, and tried to peck at her hand, but she held on and drew it toward her, wincing as the wings beat the air in front of her face.

"Hold on, hold on," Rago said. A few long strides brought him to where Thipa was struggling with the Cucco, and he expertly scooped the Cucco into his arms. He cooed at it for a moment, calming it, then grinned at Thipa.

"Thanks for your help," he said. "Anju can never keep these birds under control."

"I can't even touch them," Anju admitted. "I get bumpy all over." She stepped aside to let Rago deposit the last wayward Cucco in the pen. "I don't know why _you_ don't raise them, Rago. They really seem to like you."

"'Cause I don't wanna be stuck in this dumb old town forever." He perched on a fence post and gestured toward the village gate. "There's a great big world out there, and I want to see it! I want to be an adventurer… or, at least, a traveling merchant, or something."

"You'll still come back to visit, right?" Anju plopped down on the grass.

"You have to," Thipa said, joining her. "You'll have so many stories to tell us!"

"Ehh." Rago stared at the peak of Death Mountain, towering over the village. "I might not want to." He turned toward the girls with a mischievous grin. "But if you two want stories so much, why don't you go out and find some of your own? You could become adventurers, too!"

Anju's eyes widened, and she shook her head. "Oh, no. I could never leave Mama and Papa."

"Tch. Of course not. Thipa, how about you?"

Thipa furrowed her brow, thinking about his question and looking around the village. In the heat of the Cucco chase, she hadn't noticed how the villagers looked at her; frankly, she hadn't cared, she was so invested in her task. But now, she saw their distaste and distrust, and, among some, confusion. Rago was Topi's son, the boy who had been nursed alongside Thipa, and Anju had been born two years later. Given the way Topi had felt about the arrangement then, and the ill fortune she still believed it would bring to her family, eleven years later, none of the older villagers could fathom how the children had become friends.

They couldn't understand why the children hadn't completely shunned Thipa, as they had, themselves.

"Hey, Thipa, did you hear my question?" 

Thipa blinked, Rago's voice snapping her out of her thoughts. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I heard you."

"And?"

"And… I don't think I could."

"Aww, why not? 'Cause of Norak?"

Thipa nodded. "He's my family. I couldn't just _leave_ him."

"You girls are so mushy."

"It's not just that!" Thipa hastily added. "It's me, too. People here look at me like I'm scary and ugly, and this is my home. What will other people think, in other places? I don't want to find out."

"Forget what other people think! It's _your_ life, and you gotta live it! I know you and ol' Norak get along really good, but if you ever wanna go, just… _go._ "

Thipa nodded and picked a few blades of grass. "Just go," she repeated to herself. Rago was so brave, always talking about becoming an adventurer, always going just a little bit farther out of his way whenever he went to the castle town and coming back with stories from the river or from Hyrule Field. One time, he stayed out too late and came back to the village with his clothes in tatters, telling everyone he'd fought off a pair of walking skeletons with just a tree branch and won. 

Thipa was intrigued by this story, and really wanted to hear more, but Rago didn't come out of his house for a few days after that. She passed by the house, and asked Anju about him, but Anju said only that he was sick, and the next time Thipa saw Rago, he was quieter than usual, and claimed to have forgotten about the skeletons altogether.

That was strange; she hoped he hadn't just made it up.

"Oh!" Anju rose suddenly and brushed the grass off the back of her skirt. "Papa's back!"

In an instant, Rago's expression changed. His eyes darkened and his jaw set, his lower lip jutting out. He slid off the fencepost, shoulders squared, and let out a disgusted sigh. "Looks like he got paid in drink _again_."

Thipa scrambled to her feet and saw the carpenter shuffling toward his house, weaving and stumbling along the way. Instinctively, she backed away, around the corner of the Cucco pen. The carpenter wasn't yelling—in fact, he was singing, albeit off-key—but he just _felt_ dangerous to be around. 

"Anju," Rago said, keeping his eyes on the carpenter, "go to Gran's shop and get some medicine."

"The same kind?" Anju asked.

"Same as always. Now, go… go! And take your time."

"Come on." Anju grasped Thipa's wrist and led her away from the house, past the well, through a hole in a tall fence, and up a ladder to a door in the back of a brick building. As Anju fumbled with the handle, Thipa thought she heard shouting coming from the carpenter's house, all the way across the village.

The medicine shop was dimly lit and humid, with cauldrons bubbling along the walls and behind the counter, and smelled strongly of bitter herbs and rotten fruit. Thipa held back a gag and followed Anju inside.

"Shut that door!" an older woman's voice called from the back of the shop. "The light hurts my eyes. Who goes there?"

"Gran, it's me," Anju said brightly, unaffected by Gran's hostility.

"The usual, I presume?"

"Yep!"

Gran groaned. "I don't know why Topi ever married that man. No-good bum. All right, let's see now—" she looked up sharply, and squinted in the direction of the door. "Who else is here? Speak up!"

"It's just Thipa, Gran," Anju said, gesturing for Thipa to remain quiet.

"Thipa?"

"The girl from the smithy."

"Oh, yes. The babe Topi was forced to nurse. Get her out of here! I don't want that disfigured little leech anywhere near me! She'll ruin my stock."

"Gran! You know that's not—"

"No, it's all right," Thipa said, feeling something tighten around her heart. She bit her lip and willed herself not to cry. Not now. She could cry at night, after Norak was asleep, but right now, she had to show Gran and Anju that words couldn't hurt her. "I'll wait outside."

Thipa reached the base of the ladder and kicked it hard, then turned her boots on the clumps of grass around her. She wanted to run home, wanted to hide in the smithy for the rest of the day, or the rest of her life, but she didn't want to leave Anju behind. She didn't want Anju to worry. She balled her fists and took a few deep breaths, and by the time Anju left the shop, she could pretend nothing was the matter.

But Anju couldn't. Her shoulders slouched and she looked at the ground as they walked, kicking any small stones that lay in her path. She didn't say much, and when she stopped at the well, Thipa figured it was a good time to head home.

"Wait," Anju said, reaching for her hand, "can you stay with me, just a little longer? Rago said to take my time, so…"

"Well…"

"Please?" She tried to smile, but Thipa could see something else in her eyes. Something sad, something frightened.

"All right. Do you want to talk, or play?"

Anju shook her head, then rummaged through her pocket and pulled out a handful of green Rupees. "Did you know this well grants wishes?" she said quietly. "Mama said an old man used to live here, in this very spot, and they dug the well right under his house. Some people think he's still down there, but he can't get out 'cause of all the water. So, we throw money and food into the water for him, and he gives us what we ask for." She tossed the Rupees into the well and watched them sink, her lips moving in a silent plea.

Thipa craned her neck, keeping her distance from the well as Norak had ordered her to do many times—the water was poisonous to outsiders, he told her—but she saw very little. "Does it work?"

"I hope so."

"What did you wish for?"

Anju glanced around, then leaned in even closer. "You can't tell anyone, okay? I wished that Rago would never leave. He always talks about taking off, but I want him to stay. I _need_ him to stay, 'cause he's my big brother, and aren't big brothers s'posed to take care of their little sisters? I don't want him to leave."

"But what if he wants to?"

"Maybe the well will change his mind." Anju turned toward her house and squinted, as if listening for something. Then she nodded and gave a half-hearted grin. "Thanks for staying with me, Thipa. I think I'll go home now. See you tomorrow!"

Thipa watched her go, then ventured to peer inside the well. The Rupees had sunk far out of sight. Not even a sparkle; the well was deep enough that no light reached the bottom. Thipa shivered. If anyone lived down there, they must be cold and lonely. And maybe they were jealous, too, just a little bit jealous of her and Anju and the rest of the villagers, and of anyone else who walked in the sunlight.  
  


* * *

_  
Disfigured little leech!_

Thipa swung her hammer.

_She'll ruin my stock._

She brought the hammer down harder on the horseshoe she was working, sending bits of molten metal flying through the air, one of which landed on her arm. She cried out and brushed it away, and, within moments, Norak stood beside her, dousing her arm with cold water from a pail.

"What are you doing?" he asked her. "You know better. A horseshoe is small; you don't have to hit it that hard."

"I know." Thipa sighed. "But I wanted to."

Norak stepped back and crossed his arms. "What happened?"

"I'm angry."

"I can see that. Why?"

"Something somebody said." She picked up her hammer and turned back to the anvil.

"Who said what?"

"Anju's Gran. She called me a leech, and said I ruined her medicines."

It was Norak's turn to sigh. "And why were you at her shop?"

"Anju needed some medicine and took me with her."

"You know you don't have to go everywhere someone asks you to, right?"

Thipa said nothing and resumed working on the horseshoe. Norak caught her wrist as she raised her hammer again.

"Thipa," he said before she could protest, "come sit down. I think we need to talk." He waited until she was seated on the stool next to him, then patted her shoulder. "We need to discuss how you spend your time, and with whom. Those children—"

"They're my friends."

"I know that, and I'm very glad that they are. But they bring you into contact with other people who think—"

"Forget what other people think!" Thipa felt a swell of courage, repeating Rago's words. "And what they say! I should be allowed to play where I want, with anybody I want."

"You're right. I wish we could forget what people say and think, truly I do. But _can_ you?" He looked into her eyes and she turned away, hearing Gran's words echo in her mind and fighting the sting of tears. "Can you forget what people say?"

"No…"

Norak shifted his weight. "I am not going to forbid you from playing with your friends, but I think we ought to limit the time you are out there—"

"Limit? That's not—"

"—by giving you something else to do." He smiled. "I've watched you learn and work beside me since you were very little, and I can see that you have talent and nerve. How would you like to officially become my apprentice?"

"Apprentice?" Thipa gaped at him, her contrary energy ebbing away and leaving her, for the moment, stunned and silent.

"Yes, my apprentice. I will teach you more of the craft. I will teach you how to make things besides horseshoes, like tools and weapons. And I will teach you how to run the shop, how to record sales and order stock. Everything that I do, I will teach you, so that you can become my successor, someday."

"Successor?" Thipa's mind had caught up with Norak's offer, and excitement began to tingle through her limbs, but that word introduced an icy undercurrent of anxiety. "Successor'" meant that things would change, irreversibly, someday. Someday, Norak would not be working at the forge, or greeting customers at the counter; someday, Norak would not be here at all. She didn't want to think about that day.

He must have noticed her distress, because he gave a hearty laugh and reassured her. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, yet. Not for a good, long while, I hope." He kept smiling, but his eyes were serious. "I just want to prepare you to take care of yourself, when that time comes. I want to know I left you well."

His words did little to soothe the fear that she would one day be alone, but Thipa forced the fear down, far below her joy at being allowed to work with Norak, to learn from him and to prove her worth to the village.

"Thank you, Norak. Thank you so much!" She flung her arms as far around his broad torso as she could and squeezed. "When can I start?"

"As soon as you'd like to."

"Tomorrow?"

"If you wish. We will work at the forge in the morning, and in the afternoon, you'll tend the shop…" He trailed off into a chuckle as he watched a frown tug at the corners of her mouth. "…And in the late afternoon, you can play with your friends."

Thipa's frown disappeared, and she began wondering aloud what things she would learn to make in the next few days, and how long it would take her to become as good at smithing as Norak was. Such was her excitement that she even volunteered to go to bed early, so that she might be at the forge and ready to learn at the morning's first light.

She wolfed down her dinner and made good on her offer, falling fast asleep before Norak extinguished the hearth.  
  


* * *

  
The shovel Norak handed her pulled Thipa's arms down so quickly her shoulders popped. Even compared to her hammer, the shovel was heavy, and its handle came up to her chin. Norak tied a delivery slip to the handle, then opened the door for her.

"Are you sure you can do this?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Thipa grunted, hoisting the shovel into the crooks of her arms to balance the weight. "I have to start doing these things now, so I can be as strong as you, someday."

"All right. Be sure to take a break whenever you have to, though. I don't want you getting hurt. I need your help in the shop!"

Thipa nodded and sidled through the door, nearly colliding with Nefia, on one of her regular visits to the shop to check on Norak and Thipa.

"My, you've grown so much, Thipa," she said, stepping out of Thipa's way. "And so strong, too! Are you on a delivery?"

"Uh-huh. To the graveyard."

"Oh, for the new gravedigger, then!" Nefia turned to Norak. "Pity about his father, but I heard the old man trained him well, at least."

Thipa began picking her way down the stairs, catching bits of the conversation behind her.

"I've seen better days, myself," Nefia sighed in response to Norak's greeting. "But my husband fares far worse."

"I'm so sorry," Norak said.

"I don't know what else to do. I've asked everyone, I've tried everything. Everything except…"

"I'd advise against that. Though it is ultimately your choice. Just bear in mind…"

As they entered the smithy and Thipa reached the bottom of the stairs, their words became impossible to make out. Adults were so mysterious, talking in circles and half-finished sentences, and they seemed to speak even more cryptically around her. She felt sorry for Nefia, and for Nefia's ailing husband, but she couldn't understand why Nefia didn't simply wish him back to health. If what Anju said about the well was true, what wish could be more worth granting?

Thipa trudged past the well, resisting the urge to look in. Maybe Nefia didn't have enough Rupees to spare. A wish like that might cost a lot. But Anju said people threw food into the well, too, and not only was Thipa sure Nefia had food, she also knew Nefia was a wonderful cook. The meat pies and cobblers she brought to the smithy on holidays were delicious, and if whoever was in the well refused them, they had no idea what they were missing.

By the time she reached the wooden shack just inside the graveyard, Thipa's arms were burning, and sweat beaded along her temples and upper lip. She stared at the door for a few seconds, unwilling to set the new shovel down but unsure whether she could hold it with just one arm, before deciding to give the door a series of gentle kicks. She heard shuffling from within, and when the door opened, she involuntarily jumped.

The man standing in the doorway looked nothing like the other residents of Kakariko Village. Though he did not seem old, his hair was thinning, and he slouched forward, beneath a hump on his back, so that his fingertips grazed against his knees. His lower jaw jutted forward, and his left eye drooped, and for a moment, he regarded Thipa with equal surprise. Then, he broke into a wide grin, revealing several missing teeth, and laughed.

"Ah, my shovel!" he said, and plucked it from Thipa's arms as if it were a pillow. Thipa exhaled sharply and let her arms drop, trying to shake the feeling back into them, but only succeeding in making them look like worms struggling on a fishing hook.

"So, you're the girl I've heard about," he continued. "Why, there's nothing wrong with you! You're strong as some of those Gorons up on the mountain. People are silly; they see someone who looks a little different, and pretty soon, the difference is all they _can_ see." He chuckled and signed the bottom half of the delivery slip, tore it off and handed back to Thipa. "My name—" he pointed to a clumsily scrawled signature "—is Dampé. I'm the graveyard-keeper. I dig graves when people need them, and I patrol to keep the graves safe. What's your name?"

"Thipa. Norak raised me, and now I am his apprentice." She grinned. Dampé seemed like a nice man, and he spoke a truth few of the villagers wanted to hear.

"That's good, that's good! You are still very young, so you have a lot of time to learn a lot of stuff! I learned from my father, too, and now I do the work he did. He will watch me work, and I will make him proud."

Thipa tilted her head. She'd heard from Norak that Dampé's father had died. "Where is your father?"

"There." Dampé pointed to a headstone adorned with small flowers, the dirt in front of it still freshly turned. "Dug it myself, just like he taught me."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. He had a good life, and now he will have a good rest. I will protect his grave, and all the others, so everyone here can rest peacefully."

"Protect? From what?"

"Thieves. Ghosts. Mean people." He tossed the shovel from one hand to the other. "And I think I'm doing a pretty good job. Sometimes, on my patrol, I find treasure."

"Treasure?"

"Not gold, but little Rupees here and there. They aren't there during the day. Just at night, and I think they're gifts. The people sleeping here are saying, 'Thanks, Dampé, for protecting us!'"

Thipa scanned the graveyard, squinting to spot the telltale sparkle of a Rupee in the grass. She saw none. "That's amazing."

"Sure is." He looked at his shovel, as if he was pondering something, then met Thipa with another broad smile. "Would you like to see? When the sun goes down, the treasures come up. Come here after dark sometime, and I will show you."

Thipa shrunk back. The thought of walking around a graveyard at night spooked her. But Dampé seemed so at ease with the idea that her curiosity soon overtook her fear. "Anytime at night?"

"Anytime. Once the sun goes down, I start my patrol. You'll find me, easy enough." He yawned. "But I must get back to sleep for work tonight. Thank you, Thipa, and thank Norak, too. See you later."

Before Thipa could bid him farewell, he shuffled back inside and shut the door, and she headed back to the shop with visions of ghosts and treasures playing through her mind.  
  


* * *

  
It took three days of convincing and an afternoon visit to Dampé for Norak to allow Thipa to go to the graveyard at night. 

"One hour," he said, putting his tools away for the evening, "and then you come straight home, understand?"

"Yes." Thipa fumbled with the buttons on her sweater.

"And stay close to Dampé. Don’t go wandering through the graveyard alone."

"I'll be fine. I don't _really_ think there are ghosts there."

"It's not just ghosts I'm worried about. Rocks, holes, roots and weeds… one bad fall for you, and I'm on my own in the shop again for weeks! Remember that."

"I'll remember," Thipa replied in singsong. "And I'll be careful."

Norak smiled and nodded, and she left the shop, skipping down the stairs outside and walking toward the graveyard as fast as she could without raising suspicion. If there really was treasure there, she certainly didn't want to have to share it with other villagers.

Dampé was already making the rounds of the graveyard when she arrived, and he welcomed her with the same gap-filled grin he'd introduced himself with. She shadowed him closely, and when he asked for suggestions on where to dig, she took her time and studied the ground as best she could by the light of his lantern. By the time her hour was up, she had filled her pockets with green Rupees and Deku nuts, and left Dampé with a promise to return whenever she got the chance. 

She was sorting the Rupees from the nuts in the pocket of her sweater as she passed through the tunnel connecting the graveyard to the village but stopped short when she noticed someone standing by the well. Moving into the shadows, she recognized the person as Nefia, and watched as Nefia drew a bucket of water from the well. She did not fill a jug with water, though, or even scoop any to her mouth; instead, she set the bucket on the edge of the well and stared at it for several moments. Then, moving her lips silently, she submerged her left hand in the bucket, up to the elbow, and winced.

A strange, weak light came from the bucket, and illuminated Nefia's face, which was twisted in pain. Thipa fought the urge to run forward and help her—Nefia appeared to know what she was doing—and simply sank further into the shadows, pressing herself against the wall of the tunnel and watching the disturbing scene unfold.

After some time, the glow faded, and Nefia relaxed, her features drawn. She pulled her hand from the bucket, pale and gnarled now, and clutched it to her chest. Finally, she tipped the bucket on its side and let the water flow back into the well, before turning away and staggering toward her house.

Thipa crept out of the shadows and approached the well. The bucket still sat on the edge, the last of the water inside dripping out slowly. She leaned forward and peered into the darkness, watching the moonlight glint off the surface of the water. With each drop returned to the well, the light danced and shifted to its own mesmerizing rhythm. Thipa could not have said when she noticed the light and shadows forming a shape, but the realization that a ghostly face was looking back at her from the depths of the well chilled her to her marrow. Still, she could not look away.

Anju's words ran through her mind, but the voice in which she heard them was unfamiliar.

_Did you know this well grants wishes? Gives us what we ask for._

The face rippled, a grotesque grin splitting it from edge to edge.

 _Whatever we ask for,_ the voice continued, _the water gives us… for a price. But it is only a pittance… a pittance for a wish._

Another drop hit the water, shattering the face and pulling Thipa back to her senses. She backed away from the well, scattering Rupees and nuts along the ground, then turned and ran home, tugging the door open and diving for the blankets on her bed.

She told Norak only that she thought she'd seen a ghost at the graveyard and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. But nothing could thaw the ice in her veins that night. Sitting at the hearth and wrapped in three blankets, she still shivered, and battled fearsome creatures in her dreams when she finally managed to fall asleep. 

The morning sun brought warmth back to her blood, but it could not wipe her memory of what she'd seen—Nefia's mangled hand, that horrible face in the water—and somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the voice again, at once raspy and lilting, as if it were taunting her.

_Whatever we ask, the water gives us._

_A pittance for a wish._


End file.
